


Ain't We Got Fun

by afterism



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Desk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Fingerfucking, there's not enough praise kink to deserve a tag but there's definitely a line of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/pseuds/afterism
Summary: Queenie knows the way to a man's heart. She figures there's no harm in seeing if it's the same way to a woman's.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alamorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/gifts).



MACUSA is almost peaceful, this time of night. Most of the floors are empty; Queenie hasn't seen anyone else since she left Tina and the rest of the Aurors down in the Major Investigation Department, and the fizzing clatter of the elevator is loud enough that, for a rare few moments, the only voice in her head is her own.

The leatherette handles of her shopping bag creak under her fingers, as the elevator slows and drifts to the gentle stop that only happens on the President's Floor.

All the department heads have their offices up here, in a horseshoe of corridors that lead with light granite and filigree around to the President's office at the centre. It's quiet, once the elevator doors have finished clamouring open. Queenie steps out, standing neat and still and listening for a moment because it's so much easier to be reckless when you don't have to explain yourself -- and sets off down the right-hand corridor, her heels clicking in a tidy rhythm.

She doesn't see anyone, but there's a rustle of paper as she passes an almost-shut door, a snatch of tired thoughts of a warm bed that's louder than all the memos demanding attention, and Queenie picks up her pace and hurries on, holding her bag up in front of her a like a shield. The people up here get real touchy when she knows things she shouldn't. It's easier when she doesn't have to watch her tongue.

The door to the President's Office is starkly obvious as soon as she turns the corner; the same size and shape as all the others but gleaming black instead of pale grey, with gold fittings that glint like jewellery. Queenie's never had a reason to come this far, before, and the tap of her heels falter for a brief moment, landing not quite together as she stops, and looks. 

Nervousness tries to fill up her lungs, but she takes a deep breath instead, and strides over to knock on the door.

There's a beat before anything happens, enough time for Queenie to bite her lip and set her spine with determination: then the door springs open by itself, and she finds herself facing a large, elegantly panelled office. It's bigger than the apartment she shares with Tina. The President sits behind a desk near the opposite end of the room, in front of large sash windows that can't be real, this high up -- and it's late enough that the enchanted glass just shows speckles of light in the distance, like a city of the other side of a bay.

"Miss Goldstein," President Picquery says, her voice level despite the surprise bubbling up through her thoughts like champagne. "What can I do for you?"

Heat prickles at Queenie's cheeks, even as she smiles. Seraphina looks portrait-perfect, as always, her white curls and pinstripe day suit as neat as when she crossed the lobby this morning, but there's a tiredness in her shoulders, and an extra button on her soft blue shirt undone. She's in the middle of a report, the nib of her gilt-edged quill hovering above the page. 

"Oh, nothin'," Queenie says, light as a spring breeze as she steps over the threshold, her shoes muffled by the thick carpet. "I was just bringin' something to eat for Teenie and everyone, since that kerfuffle uptown meant none of you got lunch, and I thought... you might like something, too? You must be hungry, and - oh!" Queenie says, stepping forward, eyes wide. "You've been under so much stress."

"Queenie," Seraphina says, her voice too warm for the warning to hit properly.

"Don't need to read minds to know that," Queenie says, looking down as she smiles. When she glances back up Seraphina is considering her, a plump thoughtfulness in her mouth that would be a lip-bite in anyone less measured. There's a hint of collarbone beneath her shirt as she sets down her quill and rolls her shoulders back, relaxing into her chair. 

"Have you eaten?" Seraphina asks, a beat after she thinks it. 

"Me?" Queenie says, artless and blinking. "Oh, no, I can wait 'til I get home."

"After you went to all this trouble?" Seraphina says, lifting her chin, her gaze sliding eloquently to the large shopping bag clutched at Queenie's side. She raises an eyebrow. "They should have at least asked you to join them."

"Nah, they wouldn't want me there, not with this big new case of theirs and all," Queenie reasons, half-smiling as she shifts her weight, her bag bumping against her knees.

Seraphina looks down at the report spread out in front of her, and taps a single fingertip against the edge. "In that case," she starts, and picks up her quill, dabbing the nib into her ink blotter. "Please, sit," she says, and looks pointedly at the armchairs in front of her desk for a moment, before she focuses back on her report. 

Queenie grins -- it would be an overstatement to call this a plan, exactly, but the vague happy notion of making President Picquery smile seems less impossible -- and catches her lip between her teeth as she turns slightly to nudge the door closed behind her. The chairs a few feet from Seraphina's desk are the fancy old-fashioned kind with a lot of carved wood and not much padding; three of them around a sculpted coffee table, spaced out like points of a compass with Seraphina at North, and Queenie hurries with bouncing steps across to South. She sets her bag down on the seat, and snaps open the clasp.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Seraphina says, not looking up. Her nib scratches across the paper, quick and precise.

"Mm _hmm_ ," Queenie responds, the pressed line of her mouth disbelieving as she fishes her wand out of her sleeve. Her expression slips as she bites her lip in concentration, holding her wand like a paintbrush, and with a delicate swish of her wrist plates start floating out of the bag. They crowd onto the small coffee table, clattering as they jostle for space; broth and lamb chops, bread and potatoes and green vegetables still steaming in their bowl, stuffed mushrooms and celery, rice pudding and blueberry pie and custard --

"My goodness," Seraphina says, looking over. Her chin is still lowered, angled towards her work, but her eyes are bright and fixed on the gently clinking plates, amusement tucked in the corner of her mouth.

"I didn't know what everyone liked," Queenie says, shrugging, and catches two clean plates that breeze up towards her with a clunk of china. She glances at Seraphina and her breath catches, warmth bursting golden in her chest -- Seraphina's eyelids are hedonisticly heavy, lips just parted as she takes a deep breath and drinks in the cacophony of butter and spice and caramelised sugars that's filling the air.

"It tastes even better," Queenie says, her voice slinking coy, and Seraphina opens her eyes as slow as a cat in a sunbeam. 

"Please don't wait on my account," Seraphina says, wetting her lips with a flash of tongue, and treats Queenie to a smile that almost covers her whole mouth before she looks back to her work. 

Queenie looks down at the food, holding the dinner plates in one hand and her wand in the other, and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Seraphina is hard to read. There's a coolness to her mind that Queenie has always appreciated, refreshing and clear as dipping her toes into a river -- it's just a clever kind of Occlumency, really, like darting silver fish drawing attention from the things lurking deeper, but it makes it tricky to pick out anything Seraphina doesn't want her to see.

She's thinking about work right now, a steady trickle of _secrecy_ and _projected costs_ and _who on earth thought that was a good idea_ , but Queenie concentrates, and grins when she spots it -- the bright flash of hunger, like a beacon calling her over. 

"You're listening," Seraphina says, without raising her head. 

Queenie holds her giggle in her throat, lets it spill silently across her cheeks instead. "And you need to eat," she says, popping one of the clean plates back into her bag, and perching on the edge of an empty armchair, her ankles crossed as she leans forward. She cuts a slice of pie with two flicks of her wand and nudges it onto the plate, blueberries spilling out in a sticky purple mess across the white crockery.

Seraphina doesn't look up, doesn't pause in the quick scratch of her quill, as Queenie rounds the wide desk and settles herself with a flurry of skirts and determination on the edge by Seraphina, close enough that a drawer-handle is digging into the back of her calf. 

The quill pauses, ink drying on the page. Queenie puts the plate down on top of it.

"This could be important," Seraphina says, still facing down so all Queenie can see of her eyes is a sweep of dark lashes. Her elbow, resting on the desk as she holds down the opposite page of the report, almost touches Queenie's thigh. 

"You wouldn't be thinking about it so loud, if it was," Queenie reasons, and watches the edge of a smile hook at Seraphina's mouth. This close, at this angle, she can see the faintest brush of freckles that curve across Seraphina's neck, a trail leading down into the shadows of her shirt. 

"You know," Seraphina starts, an odd slant to her voice that Queenie can't quite place, "I really should have this tested before I eat it. There's been quite a run of experimental potions being slipped into food these days."

She looks up, her expression set boldly serious but there's a ripple of playfulness in her thoughts, a sparkle in her dark eyes -- and so Queenie doesn't think before she twists slightly to swipe a finger through the spill of sweet filling, and artlessly sucks the tip of it into her mouth. 

The weight of Seraphina's full attention hits like a spark to kindling. 

_Oh_.

Queenie swallows. "That's not work," she says, her cheeks hot. Sure, she's used to catching the way some people look at her, but it never feels this _electric_ , like fireflies under her skin.

Seraphina smiles, wide and bright enough for a slow flash of teeth, and interested warmth tightens low in Queenie's stomach. Queenie licks her lips, her mouth oddly dry, and _how silly, I should have packed something to drink_ , she thinks, absurd and scattered.

"For the benefit of those without natural Legilimency," Seraphina starts, flirtation in her mouth, "What are you thinking?"

"I think..." Queenie says, voice a little high as she draws the pieces of herself together, and she catches her lip between her teeth as she glances over her shoulder. "You should lock the door?"

Seraphina's smile pulls predatory and pleased. There's a mesmerising sway to her shoulders as she pushes back her chair and stands up, all her angles and lines coiled and precise as she dips into the inside pocket of her jacket, and pulls out her purple-handled wand. Queenie's breath is caught in her throat -- there's something delicious in the suggestion of curves as the fabric shifts, the hard edges of her as Seraphina points her wand towards the other end of the room, and the door locks shut with a solid click.

She follows it with an odd wiggle of her hand, like she's tracing something with the tip of her wand, and the faint, distant sounds of the MACUSA office -- the whistling and doors slamming and the hiss of the elevator -- vanish.

"Imperturbable charm," Seraphina explains, tucking her wand away as Queenie darts her tongue across her lips. "I find it very useful for _sensitive_ conversations," she says, and her thoughts are such a clear bell-ring of desire that Queenie is flushing even before Seraphina meets her eye with a slow drag of her gaze across Queenie's skin that feels like rolling embers.

"Maybe you could teach me sometime," Queenie says, breathless nonsense as Seraphina leans close. They're the same height, near enough, but Queenie is still perched on the edge of the desk and she has to angle her chin up to look at her, feeling vulnerable and wanting in the best possible way.

"I would love to," Seraphina says, her voice low and dark and as promising as the curl of her hand around the back of Queenie's neck, her thumb under the corner of Queenie's jaw. She holds still, for a long moment; only her eyes moving across Queenie's face, the corners of her mouth curling up as her lips part, and the only shape Queenie can make out of Seraphina's thoughts is somewhere in the junction between longing and savouring and reverence. 

Queenie draws in a breath like she's trying to remove the air between them, and Seraphina smiles a little wider before she closes the distance, and kisses her. 

It feels like all the warmth in her body has turned liquid, surging at the brush of her mouth. Seraphina kisses with the tight control she has over everything; soft and barely moving but somehow overwhelming, a gentle slide of her mouth that Queenie chases, eyes closed, and finds like an electric bolt through her stomach every time.

It is, almost, too gentle for all the coiled need in Queenie's mouth -- every time she pushes a little harder Seraphina immediately pulls back, light and teasing.

"I ain't gonna break," Queenie murmurs against her mouth, and Seraphina has such mastery over her own thoughts that the sudden flood of images can only be deliberate -- all the ways she _wants_ , all the ways she's noticed her without Queenie ever realising it, and Queenie gasps into it as one image slams front and centre.

"Yes, oh Mercy Lewis, yes, that," Queenie babbles, her hands caught under the folds of Seraphina's jacket without her having noticed herself moving, and the huff of warmth across her mouth feels almost as good as the kiss. She loses track of her own body sometimes, when she gets so caught up in someone else's head, but Seraphina's hands are sure and solid around her waist and Queenie lets herself tumble into it, smiling into another kiss. 

_I'm going to need your help getting this off_ , Seraphina thinks, the hem of Queenie's dress bunching under her hands even as her tongue teases across Queenie's parted mouth, and Queenie giggles in a heady rush as she raises her arms and lets Seraphina slide her dress off over her head, her skin goosefleshed and sensitive in the trail of her fingertips. 

Seraphina stays away long enough to shrug off her jacket, letting it drop to the floor as she looks Queenie over from her stocking-shod toes to her barely-bruised mouth, and the want that thrums through her is as vital as her pulse. Queenie gasps happily as Seraphina steps between her knees and kisses her fiercely, fingertips framing either side of her face, before her hands slip down over her shoulders and the line of her ribs, down until she's learning the curve of her hips. Queenie loops her arms around Seraphina's shoulders and pours herself into it. 

" _Yes_ ," Queenie breathes, answering a half-formed question as Seraphina's fingers dig with pleasing sudden roughness into her thighs. Seraphina smiles against her mouth before she tenses her arms and tips Queenie fully onto the desk, her feet off the floor and paper crunching under the drag of her skin, but she can't possibly care when Seraphina is still kissing her like that, deep and slow and urgent as her hands glide down her thighs, and tuck under her knees to spread them wide. 

_Get comfortable_ , Seraphina thinks, teasing with a lingering kiss and a picture reel of promises, and pulls away. Queenie blinks her eyes open -- she's too flushed and alive to feel cold with it, her heart pounding, but for a moment all she can do is watch as Seraphina wordlessly calls her desk chair close, and sits down between her thighs. She looks so poised and artfully dishevelled that for a heartbeat Queenie thinks she must have conjured this, pulled a fantasy out of her head and held it shimmering in front of her.

Seraphina presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, barely beyond her knee, and Queenie drops down to her elbows. Her hands guide Queenie's legs up until her feet are resting on the arms of her chair, easy and open, and the rings on her fingers catch cold on Queenie's flushed skin as she slides them back along to her hips.

It's like there's a spring inside her that's being wound tighter with every inch covered, as Seraphina kisses her way along her thighs. Her mouth works with bruising sweetness, the scrape of teeth immediately soothed by a wet suck, the barest kisses followed by lingering suction that's gonna leave a mark. Seraphina's thoughts are so focused on her that Queenie is almost overwhelmed, both outside her own body and aware of every single point where she has or is or will be touched, feeling everything from both sides and dizzy with it.

She doesn't want it to stop. She doesn't know how she can bear any more. Seraphina pushes Queenie's chemise up over her stomach and kisses the join of her thigh as two fingers start to explore her apex with teasing gentleness, the thumb of her other hand tucked into the dip of her hipbone, and a groan shreds through Queenie's throat as Seraphina's mouth finally follows the trail of her fingers. 

She comes unstuck, after that, loose and scattered and lost to the overwhelming deliciousness of Seraphina's tongue working wet and precise or wide and flat along her folds, every curl of her mouth sinking impossibly deep into her core. There are two fingers twisting into her with slow, deliberate intensity; she can feel them filling her up and the tight slide of herself around them, Seraphina's delight in how easy she opens up to her, the answering throb of need with every shiver of Queenie's hips.

And this is -- _oh, this is_ \-- sure, she can get there fast by herself when she tilts her thoughts in the right direction but this is something else; every inch of her flesh from her bones to her skin is almost vibrating, the need of it almost unbearable, and the way her orgasm finally crashes through her feels as inevitable and unstoppable as a storm.

Queenie's arms give way, sliding out to the side and she flops down onto the desk with a happy, insensible sigh. Time passes, she thinks, but her bones have been turned into pure contentment and she sees no need to ever move again.

She listens to her own breathing, the loudest thing in the room, and Seraphina's thoughts are a warm, distant blur that she floats on top of like an impossibly huge bath, indulging without really listening. 

Eventually, when she's aware of the paper crumpled under her fingertips and the nib of a quill digging into her back, Queenie hears a faint, odd noise, like metal brushing against crockery. She pushes up inelegantly on her elbows, her feet curled and pressing down on the arms of the desk chair still, and blinks.

Seraphina has settled back in her seat. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, her waistcoat gone, and she's demolishing her slice of blueberry pie with a delicate fork she must have wordlessly conjured. 

She looks up at Queenie just as she takes another bite, and grins around the fork. Something warm and heavy uncurls in Queenie stomach, an unexpected affection that sits a little differently to the arousal that's still lingering like aftershocks -- and Seraphina is holding herself cool but Queenie can see the lust like golden threads through her thoughts, bright and demanding.

Queenie pushes herself up all the way, and Seraphina smiles wider, dropping the half-eaten pie on the desk and lets Queenie capture her mouth in a giddy rush. There's the taste of herself under the sweet burst of blueberries, strange and heady, and Queenie chases it with her tongue as Seraphina's hands come up to curl around her jaw -- and then all Queenie can focus on is the unravelling rush of desire in Seraphina's thoughts, the need still pooling between her thighs.

"Let me," Queenie murmurs into the kiss, her hands skimming down the perfect curves of her neck and her breasts and her ribs, tipping almost into Seraphina's lap as she flattens her palms around Seraphina's waist, and holds on. 

Seraphina gets it, of course, her thoughts spilling easily towards the idea of Queenie's fingers slipping inside her. She doesn't let the kiss break as she stands up, hauling Queenie close by the hips, Queenie's knees bracketing her thighs, and turns the kiss breathless and light as she tips back an inch so there's just enough space to work open the buttons of her trousers and let them slip to the floor. 

Queenie wants to touch her _everywhere_ , so scattered with wanting that these feelings can only be hers. She runs her fingers down Seraphina's thighs until they're sliding over the silk tops of her stockings, and then back up to roam over the soft lace of her bloomers and the smooth, warm skin above, Seraphina's stomach glorious under her fingertips. 

Seraphina's hands are back around her cheeks, kissing her like she's trying to find lost secrets in her mouth, and her thoughts guide Queenie as sure as a hand on her wrist; so wet and ready and aching that Queenie barely allows herself to tease her before she dips her hand between her legs and slips them inside, the heel of her hand kneading light against her hood. _A little more_ , Seraphina begs, a strained edge to it even in her head and Queenie's thoughts become nothing but _Seraphina_. 

Her hands tangle in Queenie's hair as Seraphina gasps in pleased surprise, because every little thought echoes against her core, every flick of Queenie's fingertips pitched perfectly as she learns just how sensitive Seraphina is. 

It's better than any spell. Queenie flushes with feedback, her own body over-warm and shifting with the need for friction as Seraphina's thoughts spill out with delirious praise, a cacophony of, "Mercy, yes," and _right there, oh gods, stay there_ and, "Queenie," _you're so good_. She works her fingers up to twist and crook inside her as Seraphina demands more, softer, _softer_ , and Seraphina's orgasm rocks through both of them like a flood, lava-hot and spine stiff as she clenches around Queenie's fingers.

"Gosh," Queenie says after a long moment, faint and breathless, and Seraphina laughs gently against her lips. 

"I'm afraid the food might have gone cold," Seraphina says, her eyes still closed, her hands slipped and resting on Queenie's shoulders as she draws her breath back down.

"I'm great with warming charms," Queenie says, and opens her eyes when Seraphina pulls back with all the reluctance of a magnet. Seraphina's looking at her, plans bubbling to the surface of her thoughts.

"Oh," Queenie says, and then, " _Yes_ , definitely," and bites the edge of her smile a beat before Seraphina draws her back in, and kisses her.


End file.
